When I am dead,
When I no longer
Talk, walk, or breathe,
When my insides stop working,
Will I leave anything substantial?
Will anything I've
Done, said, or erected
During my brief tour here
Empower, enlighten, or endure?
When I happen to pause
In the course of an average day
And think these thoughts
It's as if time itself hits me
On its way to wherever it is going
In such a hurry,
Why am I?
There are no answers for in this life.
Only these longs days
And blank pages to fill.